The True Love of Lord Westlin

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Two days had passed since Marcus had kept her under his roof, and in all that time, he had gained no clear answers. He knew she had impersonated the Countess of Hesse, but that revelation alone didn’t justify keeping her captive. He felt like a villain, denying her freedom, preventing her from living the life that, perhaps, rightfully belonged to her. With his hands clasped behind his back, he approached the window of the dining room. The soft rain pattered against the glass as he gazed out at the dreary landscape outside his residence. His thoughts kept circling back to the same questions. According to the valet who had worked for the late Count of Hesse, Grace had been a child, and it was said she was the daughter of a maid named Aylett. But that maid had died, leaving Grace in the care of the countess and Miss Kranst. The three had left, and no one knew their whereabouts. Where had they been all that time? How had Grace come to usurp the countess’s identity? The puzzle didn’t fit, and it frustrated him deeply.

He spun around quickly toward the door and, with a firm voice, called for his butler. "Ryder!"

The servant appeared almost instantly, as though he had been waiting for the command.

"You called for me, my lord?" he asked, bowing his head slightly.

"Inform Miss Collier that I wish to speak with her," Marcus said, deliberately using her false surname.

Ryder nodded and exited the room with the same efficiency with which he had entered. Marcus remained by the window, staring at the raindrops on the glass, contemplating how he would inform her that he knew her true identity. Yet something about the situation still troubled him. Why had they named her Grace? Had the maid tried to give the countess a gift, as she was unable to have children of her own? His mind swirled with more questions, and after the way he had treated her, he doubted she would willingly provide any answers. But he needed those answers, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

A wry smile played on his lips as he recalled that his old friend was no longer an obstacle to having Grace by his side. Just as Marcus had told him, Cassian had stormed into the chapel, declaring that the Marquess of Westlin had stolen his fiancée. Then he left with Clarisse to marry her in secret. To the rest of society, Cassian had vanished to one of his country estates to recover from the humiliation. Only the Duke and Duchess of Symes knew the truth, and their silence suggested they wouldn’t reveal it anytime soon.

The sound of footsteps interrupted Marcus’s thoughts, and soon Grace appeared in the doorway of the room. Her expression was hard and defiant, leaving no doubt about her feelings.

"I don’t understand why you summoned me," she snapped, her voice tense. "Are you finally going to set me free?"

Marcus studied her silently for a few seconds. Something about her attitude infuriated him, though he didn’t want to admit what it was. Perhaps it was the simplicity of her clothes, which made her look like nothing more than a maid, or perhaps it was the way she had emphasized the word free. No, he wasn’t ready to grant her that freedom yet.

"Good morning, Miss Aylett," he finally replied, his voice calm but tinged with cold amusement. "No, I’m not going to let you go."

Grace’s eyes widened in shock upon hearing her real surname, but she quickly composed herself. She couldn’t afford to show any weakness to her captor. With a look of disdain, she turned abruptly toward the door, intending to leave. But before she could take more than a few steps, she felt the firm grip of Marcus’s hand around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. The contact sent a shiver through her, though it wasn’t only out of fear. When she turned to face him, she met Marcus’s dark eyes, burning with dangerous intensity.

"Are you surprised I know who you are? Don’t you want to talk to me?" he sneered.

"Let go of me, you bastard!" she shouted, struggling to break free, but her body was trapped by Marcus’s strength.

Without losing his composure, Marcus led her to a nearby chair. Though his skin burned with the contact, he didn’t let that feeling show. He couldn’t afford such weakness.

"We need to talk," he said, firmly pushing her into the seat.

Grace immediately tried to stand, but before she could, Marcus placed a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to stay seated. His face was too close to hers, far too close.

"We need to talk," he repeated, his voice low and commanding.

Marcus’s breath brushed against Grace’s skin, and she had to force herself not to shiver again. She couldn’t let him see that he intimidated her; she couldn’t give him that power. She took a deep breath, and after a few seconds of silence, she managed to regain her composure.

"Fine," she replied coldly. "Now that you know I’m not Grace Collier, but Aylett, what do you want from me?"

The smile that spread across Marcus’s lips was broader than usual. There was something in her defiance that provoked him, something that made him want to challenge her further.

"Let’s start from the beginning," he said, leaning in slightly closer. "Who are you really? Why did you pretend to be the Countess of Hesse? What was your true goal?"

Grace lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated. Her voice remained steady, despite the immense psychological pressure he was exerting on her.

Grace’s response came quickly, filled with determination. "I am Grace Aylett, the maid of the Countess since birth until her death."

Marcus studied her closely. There were no visible signs of deception in her words, but the truth she spoke didn’t ease his mind. If what she said was indeed true, what had driven her to impersonate the Countess? Was it ambition that pushed her to seek a life of luxury? The thought ignited his anger. But before he could lash out with all the accusations swirling in his mind, a single question surfaced, one that might explain everything.

"Why did the Countess raise you as a daughter rather than as a maid?" Marcus asked, his gaze locked onto hers.

Grace’s face flickered with brief surprise, but she quickly regained her composure. She hadn’t expected him to catch onto that detail. Taking a deep breath, she spoke with forced conviction.

"She didn’t," Grace began, her voice steady. "But I’m very observant, and I’ve always been quick to learn what interests me."

Marcus wasn’t convinced. There was tension in her voice, something unsaid, and he was determined to uncover the truth. Without breaking eye contact, he called out sharply, "Ryder!"

The butler appeared almost immediately.

"Bring my guest’s maid," Marcus ordered.

Grace’s expression shifted to one of worry. She knew what this meant. The fear that Lesly might be pressured into revealing more than Grace wanted to share paralyzed her for a moment.

"No! She doesn’t know anything!" Grace exclaimed, her voice trembling.

"Doesn’t know anything?" Marcus echoed with skepticism. "Since when does a maid not know the life of the one she serves?"

Grace stood abruptly, moving toward the door just as Ryder reappeared with Lesly in tow. Her heart sank at the sight of her maid, and without thinking, she placed herself between Lesly and Marcus.

"Don’t you dare touch her!" Grace snarled, locking eyes with Marcus. "If you do, you’ll regret it."

Marcus moved closer to the two women, but his eyes remained focused on Grace. Despite the evident fear in both of them, their determination was unmistakable.

"If you are truly maids," Marcus said in a controlled tone, "then you will behave as such."

Grace lifted her chin defiantly, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. Westlin couldn’t help but feel a twinge of admiration for her spirit. It was clear that she was no mere servant.

"But as for you, Miss Aylett," Marcus continued, stepping closer, "you will be my personal maid from this day forward. Understood?"

The fury in Grace’s eyes was undeniable.

"Not in your wildest dreams!" she spat fiercely.

A faint smile tugged at Marcus’s lips. "In that case," he said calmly, "I’ll be forced to hand you over to the authorities for impersonation. And not only you will suffer the consequences, but so will she." He pointed to Lesly.

The silence that followed was suffocating, filling the room with a heavy tension. Grace felt Lesly trembling beside her, and a wave of despair crashed over her. She had no choice.

"Fine," Grace whispered at last, nodding her head in defeat.

"Milady, please don’t!" Lesly cried out, her voice filled with anguish.

Grace turned to her, her eyes soft with sadness as she took Lesly’s hand, trying to offer comfort. "It’s going to be alright, Lesly," she said, though she didn’t believe the words herself.

Marcus observed the exchange silently, not just pleased with the outcome but also intrigued by the fact that Grace had called herself milady. His suspicions about her origins were beginning to take shape, gaining clarity. Without showing any satisfaction on his face, he gestured to Ryder, who led both women away to begin their assigned tasks.

Marcus remained behind, watching them leave. He had the upper hand now, but something told him that Grace’s story was far from over. The answers he sought were closer than ever, yet there were still many layers to uncover, and he was determined to peel back every single one.